


Lead

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ficlet, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Some aliens have Vulcans all wrong.





	Lead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The one saving grace is that their mission doesn’t require dress robes—they’re asked to beam down in their regular Federation uniforms, meant to represent themselves in their every day life. Usually, Jim would have several red shirts in amongst his gold and Spock’s blue, but the Mrennenimian people are skeptical enough of outsiders and barely allowed him to bring his first officer, let alone anyone else. Jim knows he’ll need Spock by his side if he’s ever going to survive the weekend. He’s extensively read up on the strange culture they’re beaming down to, but it was obvious the Federation records barely brushed the surface, and he can already tell that these aliens are going to be distinctly _difficult_.

Having put up with his fair share of difficult people, Jim beams down anyway. He and Spock coalesce on the large wooden platform in one of their hive-like parliament’s many side chambers. The room is round, dark, and lined with sleek metal cabinets. Jim allows a single glance about it before he steps down and approaches the waiting ambassador—a humanoid woman of purple complexion with no hair but several mismatched antlers. 

She greets Jim’s polite smile with a tight expression somewhere between condescending and constipation. Jim doesn’t have enough experience with her people to read it. Spock steps up behind him, as stoic and elegant as ever. The ambassador’s silver eyes flicker to Spock and fractionally narrow. 

She whistles, which filters through the universal translator: “So your first mate really is a Vulcan.”

Jim doesn’t bother correcting to ‘officer.’ Instead, he answers, “Yes. Was there a problem with our transmission?” Surely, they would’ve seen that on the viewscreen when this meeting was first arranged. The ambassador shuffles her feet, which might equate to the shaking of a human head. 

“No, but we had thought you must be joking. We have heard you Terrans have a curious sense of humour.” Before Jim can ask why a Vulcan first officer would be funny, she turns and shuffles slowly across the floor, calling after them, “I will fetch the necessary equipment.”

Confused, Jim remains where he is. The room is large enough and her pace is slow enough that he eventually considers her out of earshot, though in truth, he has no idea what the range of Mrennenimian hearing is. Just in case, he lowers his voice when he asks, “Equipment?”

Spock answers just as quietly, “The Mrennenimians have not had contact with Vulcan since before the reform.” Jim frowns; that explains enough. While his closest Vulcan is an incredibly reasonable creature, he knows that the Vulcan people have a history as tumultuous, if not more so, than even humans. Spock adds, “It is precisely this type of outdated misinformation that the Federation hopes to correct with this treaty.”

Jim nods in understanding. He was well warned that the insular society would likely not take well to aliens, but their planet is situated far too close to the Klingon Empire to be left neutral. At least he’s confident he can quickly correct that particular prejudice; one evening with Spock should show the Mrennenimian government that the Vulcans have evolved considerably. 

That confidence dies when the ambassador turns around and Jim realizes what she’s carrying back. She reaches them with a series of thick black straps draped across her open hands, which she holds out for Jim to take. He tentatively lifts the leathery material and glances at Spock for guidance. Spock nods almost imperceptibly as though agreeing to the use of the ‘equipment’.

The ambassador informs him, “We will allow your Vulcan within our government so long as he is properly restrained. As he is yours, we will allow you to do the binding, but I will supervise to be sure it is not too loose.”

Jim dryly repeats, “The _binding_?”

“Yes. We require his hands to be bound behind his back, his throat to be leashed, and his mouth to be muzzled. Only then will he be allowed among us.”

For a moment, Jim has a violent reaction of rage and disgust, one which years of diplomacy just barely keep down. His fingers tighten around the harness in his hands, and he has to fight the urge to throw it right back at her. He fully intends to relay that he will _not_ be tying up his first officer and parading him around like an animal. 

But Spock wordlessly turns his back to Jim, obediently holding his wrists together as though waiting for Jim to take hold of them. It reminds Jim that it’s not just his own righteousness at stake—he needs to demonstrate that the current day Vulcans can behave civilly.

There’s nothing civil about the harness Jim holds, but with the explicit show of Spock’s consent, he pushes through that. He turns to his first officer and fishes out what looks like a pair of arm braces. Spock remains still as Jim rolls up his sleeves and fastens them around his wrists, allowing the clasp in the middle to lock together. Jim can only assume the Mrennenimians will show him how to properly remove the bindings later, or else he’ll have to have Scotty cut them off. 

When Spock’s hands are effectively tied, he gives a little push to Spock’s shoulder, and Spock submissively turns around, head held high to expose the slender column of his throat. The headpiece is more complicated, but Jim manages to fish out the part that looks most like a collar. He wraps it around Spock’s neck and takes a long moment to carefully adjust it, trying to leave it tight enough to appease the Mrennenimians whilst leaving enough slack to be comfortable for Spock. He tries to keep his eyes on that work, but he can feel Spock’s boring into him. 

He can feel Spock’s heartbeat thrumming steadily beneath his fingers, and he knows his own keeps skipping beats. His breath has faltered. He rarely pays such careful attention to Spock’s handsome face outside of their quarters. When the collar’s firmly in place, he lows his fingertips to brush through the dark stubble at the back of Spock’s neck, his gaze finally catching Spock’s.

Spock’s eyes are burning. Jim doesn’t need their mental bond to know that Spock is urging him to continue. It hardens Jim’s resolve, and he begins fitting the muzzle in place, letting the dark fabric cut across Spock’s pale skin. The contrast is strangely appealing. The straps fit snugly behind his head, others looping both under and over his pointed ears. There’s a metal bar in the front that Jim deftly maneuvers between Spock’s lips. Spock opens wide to accept it, though it must stretch his jaw and hurt his teeth. As usual, he makes no complaints. Jim spends a few extra seconds testing the give of each strap, borderline caressing each afflicted area, fussing with every little piece of the complicated harness. It pains him to admit that it doesn’t look so barbaric when it’s on—rather, it looks like some fine, expensive accessory that an adventurous spirit might purchase for their lover. He’s not too proud to admit that if they were back aboard his ship, safe within the privacy of his quarters, he might be reveling in such a view. 

Spock leans forward, face tilting aside, as though trying to signal something to Jim. Jim knows he’ll have to be particularly vigilant about picking up on those now that Spock is literally gagged. 

It reminds him that there’s one strip of fabric left in his hands. He affixes the leash to Spock’s collar with a satisfying ‘click.’ There’s a hefty pause where Jim simply stares at the finished product, the end of the leash clutched tight within his hand. A lump forms in his throat, and a horrible realization dons on him: he’ll never make it through an entire conference like this. 

Unable to take his eyes off Spock, Jim tells the ambassador, “I’m afraid I don’t think we can stay for the entire night after all. Perhaps we could simply hold the formal introductions now, then reconvene at a later date?” And he’ll have to bring Bones or Uhura or literally anyone but his bondage-requiring lover. He’s immensely relieved to hear no offense in the ambassador’s answer.

“I understand. Even like this, we feared he would be dangerous to have among us for too long. I will introduce you to parliament now, then you may take your beast back to your ship.”

It’s amazing that Spock doesn’t look in the least bit disturbed by her words. His eyes are only for Jim, and he appears perfectly calm, absolutely ready to prove that his people can handle even the greatest indignities with only grace and patience.

Granted, the ambassador won’t be seeing what a passionate, explosive creature he can be within the confines of Jim’s bedroom. During pon farr, such equipment might even come in handy. 

Jim, naturally, keeps that tidbit to himself. He offers her a pained smile and a jaded, “Thank you.”

With a swirl of her head, the ambassador turns and shuffles for the exit. Jim follows, the leash now twined around his palm, and Spock faithfully follows.


End file.
